


Spot

by Sonyaalone



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, sprace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonyaalone/pseuds/Sonyaalone
Summary: Spot Conlon isn't everything you make him out to be. He may be an intimidating short stack, but he's also one of the most passionate people out there. Passionate about viola, passionate about American Sign Language, passionate about football, and passionate about his friends, and let's say Race was lucky to be one of them.





	Spot

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of this is actually based on my orchestra's elementary tour and Spot reminds me so much of a viola in my orchestra. Also I don't have the patience to re-read this whole thing to check for errors so please just disregard those, I've been writing this for a month now.

Spot

Spot Conlon was something else. He kept up a tough, rebel facade, but was really very deep. You look at him and think, ‘he's the guy who does drugs and flunks out of high school’ or ‘there goes the rebel who gets in too many fights’ but that's only half true. 

Spot Conlon, or technically Sean Conlon lived with his parents until he was 11 and his dad was arrested, at which point Spot was taken in by his aunt. He'd been a pretty fucked up kid, but somehow none of that mattered now. So yes, Spot Conlon looked like a fucked up teen, when he was really a fucked up teen who was going places.

Spot Conlon has a wide variety of interests. In this case, a wide variety was actually a wide variety. He was on the varsity football team, second chair viola in the chamber orchestra, and a straight A student in ASL.

Spot Conlon was predictable in some manners, like being a quarterback or getting in fistfights, but in others he was wildly different. 

Spot Conlon was not the type of guy you'd imagine sitting second chair viola in one of the best orchestras in the state. 

Spot Conlon was not the type of guy you'd imagine carrying on an animated conversation with a deaf classmate. 

Spot Conlon was full of surprises.

•••

This particular Friday was insanely exhausting. That morning, rather than being dropped off at school by Jack like usual, Spot was driven to a nearby elementary school by Mrs. Jacobs.

This was the day of the elementary tour, where the chamber orchestra played at several elementary schools in the area. He didn't have very many friends in chamber, but he did know Sarah, Davey’s sister. She was pretty cool, a violinist. And good. That was one thing about Sarah, if she doesn't do something well she doesn't do it.

The sky was still streaked with pink when Spot opened the doors to Fremont Elementary. He followed Sarah down the hall and into the gym, where several small children were chasing a ball back and forth. He walked up the few steps onto the tiny stage, ducking behind the curtain. 

On a small table in the back there were two boxes of donuts, to which Spot helped himself, and a tray of fruit. Several of the other orchestra members were milling about, talking to one another, and Sarah went over to chat with her stand partner. 

Spot shook his head and leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the stage. He pulled out his phone and texted Jack.

Me: What's up?

Jack: nothin much, tell Sarah she's gonna be amazing

Me: I'll tell Sarah you're fucking her brother

Jack: you're a piece of shit

Jack: shit Gardners gonna take my phone if I don't get off bye

Spot rolled his eyes. 

“Hey Sarah, Jack says hi and he's fucking your brother.”

“Get a grip Spot, no need to be jealous of me.” Sarah teased from across the room. One of the other violinists had brought coffee for her friends and Sarah was instantly distracted.

Spot tried to look busy, but it wasn't going so well. He just looked bored and out of place. Who could he talk to? 

His question was answered for him when one of the cellists leaned against the wall beside him.

“Spot, right?” He asked. The boy had bright, clear blue eyes that seemed to always be smiling. 

“Yeah.” Spot grunted.

“How'd you get that name?”

“It's a nickname, my friends gave it to me.”

“Aren't you friends with Jack Kelly? The quarterback?”

“Yeah, I'm on his team.”

“Wow, uh I'm good friends with a guy who likes him.”

“Doesn't happen to be Davey does it?”

“Um, no. Crutchie.”

“Damn, Jack's been pining after Dave for so long, he just doesn't know it yet. Yeah, he's dating his sister over there, Sarah.”

“Shit. Well who's this Davey?”

“Ha, well he's tall and smart, a real nerd, sort of a dork.”

“Maybe we should set up him with Crutchie?”

“That would be somethin’”

“Wouldn't it.”

“Now who the fuck is Crutchie?”

“Well, he's the short blonde kid with the limp, always using his crutch?”

“Yeah, I probably shoulda figured.”

“Hmm.” The cellist blew a few blonde curls out of his eyes, then scanned the room.  
“We should probably get out our instruments.”

“Yeah.” Spot pushed off of the wall and unzipped his viola case. The blonde boy stood over him.

“I'm Race by the way”

“I reckon that's a nickname as well?”

“Bingo.”

Race walked away to unpack his cello and Spot picked up his viola. He gently plucked each string, turning the fine tuners when needed. He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Looking up Spot saw Andy, his stand partner, standing over him.

“Hey Spotty, can you do me a favor?” Andy bit his lip.

“Uh, depends?”

“Yeah I uh, hurt my wrist a little bit yesterday, just tweaked it or something, and I can play but vibrato hurts like hell, so do ya think you could do the example for me?”

“Huh?”

When they did the elementary tour they always had the kids name the four instruments in the orchestra, then each would play an example of their music. Of course Andy was supposed to do it, he'd been playing way longer than Spot and also played way better, but now Spot was going to play the sample?

“I can give you the piece I was gonna do, unless you have something else, please?”

“Uh, I got somethin’ I can play”

“Thanks so much!”

Spot shook his head as Andy walked away to join the First Violin section leader. His heart sped up as he rifled through his music folder. He settled on a section from The Scientist by Coldplay, something easy that sounded neat.

That song would always hold a special place in Spots heart. He could vaguely remember it being played at his brother's funeral, and now he always thought of him when he heard it. That was the beginning of the end. The end of Spots average life. 

Everything went to shit after that.

But this was now, and things were better. Now Spot was second chair viola and playing a section of The Scientist at three elementary schools. Plus he might have made a new friend. Not that Spot needed friends, he had plenty, but it was always nice to have someone to talk to in a class like chamber where you spend a lot of time in very close proximity to each other. 

Spot lifted up his viola and went through the song a couple of times, making sure it sounded good enough. Of course, he was performing for kids, so they wouldn't notice if he messed up anyway.

Pretty soon the small backstage area grew crowded. There were about 30 people in chamber and putting them all in a small room with instruments made it tight on space. Finally the bell rang and the kids went to class, letting the custodian set up for the concert. Some of the orchestra members decided to go stand out on the steps up to the stage so Spot tucked his viola under his arm and parted the curtain. 

Race and one of his cellist friends were standing talking and Race quickly waved Spot over.

“Hey Spot, this here's Albert, you know ‘im?” Race introduced Spot to the redhead who was twirling a scuffed up cello on its end pin.

“Yeah, you’s in my English, right?” Spot squinted, not sure.

“Yeah, I’se the one she always yells at.”

“Ohhh, that's you?” Spot laughed.

“What can I say? She don't like me.”

Race rolled his eyes and changed the conversation.

“So Spot, you say you got a friend named Davey?”

“Mmhmm, real nerd. He writes for the school paper, you know, straight A kid, that's the only thing straight about him though.”

Race laughed, a real genuine laugh, and Spots mouth turned up at the corners.

“So tell me more about this Crutchie?” Spot prompted.

“One he's a real drama queen, into theater and such, he try's out for all the school plays.”

“Is he any good?”

“Yeah, he's got a great singing voice, in the choir, one of those guys.”

“So uh, Spot, you think this Davey will like Crutchie?” Albert asked.

“Oh yeah, sounds perfect for him.”

“Besides, anything to get Crutchie's mind offa Jack.” Race groaned. “The kid acts like he's a god or something.”

“Pfft, Jack Kelly? He is a god. At least at this school.” Spot insisted.

“If you say so Spotty….” Race shrugged, then furrowed his brow. “Why Spot?”

“Huh?” Spot asked, confused.

“Why Spot? Why do they call you Spot?” Race clarified.

“Oh.. well there are a few reasons. When I was a kid it's because I'd always show up to school or to play with bruises all over my legs, like Spots.”

“How did ya get those?”

Spot ignored him.

“Name sorta resurfaced after I got older, they kinda figured I have a thing for givin’ hickeys.”

“Really? You?”

“Heh, yeah. It's fun how people react.”

“Never would've pinned that on you.” 

Albert cleared his throat awkwardly, having stood there for a while, unnoticed.

“Oh, Albo why don't you set up your stand?” Race suggested.

Albert obliged, setting down his cello and going back into the other room. Race and Spot were left alone. Well, they were still in a gym full of people, but alone to talk.

“How ‘bout you? Where'd Race come from?” Spot asked.

“It's short for Racetrack, cuz that's where they found me.”

“Found you when?” Spot shot him a questioning look.

“When I was about 10 they found me by the racetrack, couldn't remember a thing. I still can't, just a part of my life I guess.”

“Shit, that must be tough.”

“Well, I know whatever it was that happened before I'm better off now, so I just don't think about it.”

Race shook his head.

“What about you?” He said.

“Um, abusive father my mom just watched, too scared to do anything I guess, they got arrested when I was eight and my aunt took me in. I still live with her now.”

“Damn, does nobody have a good home life nowadays? Albo lived with his mom who would come home drunk every night until he was 13.”

“Jack's dad's in jail, his mama’s dead, lives with his foster mom Miss Metta.”

“Crutchie's parents straight up abandoned him after the car accident.”

“Wow, you're right. The only one who's got a decent home is Davey.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he and Sarah and their brother Les live with their parents. Granted his dad just got laid off and Davey does part time at a Burger King to make up for it.”

“Damn Davey, you got it goin.” Race said to no one in particular.

“I guess Kath has it fine too though, more than fine really. She's loaded, her daddy runs a newspaper or something.” 

“No shit?”

Spot shook his head.

“Damn.”

“Race you better fucking help me with this!” Albert called, emerging from the stage holding his stand in several pieces. 

“What the fuck did you do to it?” Race took the pieces and started fitting them together.  
“It's really not that hard Al.”

“Then you do it!” Albert raised his hands in surrender.

Race stopped and glared at Albert.

“What do you think I'm doing?”

Albert let out a groan and Spot couldn't help but laugh.

“Here.” Spot handed Albert his viola, who took it and tucked it under his arm. “You gotta stick this on here and squeeze this thing to make it taller.” 

Spot expertly showed Race how to set up the stand, then stood back, studying it.

“Albert I think you broke it.” Race said, squinting at it.“This things supposed to be flat so you can put your music there.”

“I know that.” Albert snapped.

“Hold on..” Spot took off the top of the stand and bent it until it was straight. “There.” 

“Alrighty Spot! Good job.” Race clapped the brunette on the back and the three moved over to the cello section. 

The chairs were set up by then and several people were already sitting, practicing. Race set the stand down at the last two seats in the cello section where he and Albert sat. The two then took their seats and picked up their cellos.

“Last stand eh?” Spot observed.

“Well we ain't done a chair test yet so it was sort of a free for all on the first day.” Race explained as his fingers expertly danced across the fingerboard.  
Spot raised his eyebrows at the music coming from the blonde's cello.

He was certainly first chair material. 

•••

The assembly went off without a hitch. The kids cheered halfheartedly, obviously not too impressed by the style of music, but they did enjoy Spot’s solo. After he had played Race caught his eye, giving him a huge grin and a thumbs up from the cello section.

They performed at another elementary school after that, the crowd was much more enthusiastic, and then a bus took them all to the mall. They all piled out at the back entrance by the food court and noisily made their way inside. 

The staff didn't look particularly excited to be serving a crew of rowdy teenagers, but knew perfectly well that they'd be eating plenty. Spot headed towards the teriyaki place, surprisingly the mall had the best teriyaki you could find in the area. 

The line grew quickly and Spot found himself waiting. Finally he got to the front and ordered his chicken teriyaki with noodles. Then he stepped to the side while they cooked it. Most of the kids went to grab a drink or coffee while they waited.

Soon enough Race came and joined him.

“Hey Spot.” 

“Hey Race.” 

“What did ya get?”

“Chicken teriyaki.” 

“Is it any good?” 

Spot turned towards Race, appalled.

“What do you mean is it any good? It's the best!”

“I never tried it.”

“Seriously? Where've you lived your whole life, under a rock?”

“No, New York actually. Not that I ever got teriyaki there either, parents didn't really eat out.”

“Well you are tryin this.” Spot declared as his order was given to him.

He took a seat at a table and opened the lid of the styrofoam takeout container. Gently poking around the chicken piled up he stabbed a chunk with his fork and held it out.

“Alright. You are going to thank me for this.” Spot insisted, giving Race the fork.

Race tentatively took a bite and his face instantly softened. 

“This is amazing!” 

“Told you!”

Spot took the fork back and started eating, Race occasionally plucking another bite when Spot was distracted. Finally the orchestra director signaled to the group that it was time to go and they all herded out of the mall and onto the bus. 

Spot plopped down onto his seat and Race cheerfully sat beside him. 

“One school to go!” Race grinned.

“Yeah, this was my elementary school.” Spot mumbled.

“No way!” Race gasped. “I thought you spent elementary school in juvie or something!” 

Spot chuckled at that. Everyone thought he was a criminal, but in all honesty he'd never broken a law that he was aware of. 

“Nah, spent it right there at Bart E. Brooklyn Elementary.” 

“Wild.” Race leaned back and pulled out his phone. He tapped away at the screen and Spot looked out the window. A few seats back someone started playing Disney music.

As soon as the first notes of Let it Go came on they began shrieking. Soon the entire bus was singing Let it Go at the top of their lungs. Everyone had their phones out and were documenting it on their Snapchat. 

Race was practically screaming it and Spot feebly joined in.  
“C’mon Spot, you gotta put your heart into it!” Race shrieked, pulling Spot up. 

Spot reluctantly stood and started singing. The song ended and the whole bus dissolved in a fit of giggles and laughter.

Soon the bus pulled up to Brooklyn elementary, a small brick school that Spot knew was full of the most wonderful teachers out there. 

The orchestra piled off the bus carrying instruments, music, and stands. Race leaned back as he helped Smalls carry her bass off the bus. Spot strung his viola case over his shoulder and approached his old school. 

It looked just the same as when he left it all those years ago. He'd abruptly moved at the end of fifth grade when his dad got arrested and his mom left. He'd gone to live with his aunt in New York, but the two moved back when he was an 8th grader. 

The hopscotch courts were still there, faded just like before. The basketball hoops seemed much shorter and the playground more cramped. 

They waited outside having no clue when they could go in. Finally someone got bored and jumped across the hopscotch squares. Of course everyone began complaining that they did it wrong, so Albert demonstrated. 

He hopped on one foot, two on the double squares, then hopped back. Everyone cheered and Race gave it a shot. He hopped across, doing a fancy spin at the end. They went wild.

“Spot your turn!” Someone called. 

Spot turned his head to glare at Sarah before hopping across lamely. 

“Booooooo!” Race jeered. He grabbed Spots wrists and pulled him across again with a crazy grin on his face.

This game went on for a few more minutes before they were let inside. Spot remembered this as the primary hallway, first and second graders. The kindergarteners were at the far end of the school near the small gym and the third graders were tucked away just past the office. The fourth fifth and sixth graders classrooms were on the other side of the lunchroom, which was where they were headed. 

The multi purpose room was a large airy room with a small stage and high ceilings. The walls were white with green trim, the school colors, and there were kids crowding around several big tables. Some of them stopped and stared in curiosity as these high school kids came into their school. 

Spot quickly spotted some of his old teachers and they came over to say hi. After hugs and a little bit of small talk to catch up Spot followed the orchestra onto the stage where they unpacked. Race threw his cello case onto a plastic table and Spot unzipped his viola case right beside him. 

The room buzzed with the kids chatter and various notes coming from the orchestra as they warmed up. Soon the lunchroom began to empty out as the students were sent back to class. Chairs were set up and they took their seats. 

Spot quickly went over his sample a few more times. He wanted to impress this school, his old teachers. Race came over to stand by Spot, his cello back by his chair. 

“You worried?” He asked abruptly.

“No.”

“Then why're you still practicing. Talk to me, I'm bored.” Race demanded.

Spot sighed dramatically and turned.

“Ok, want to hear a story?”

“Sure.” Race replied hesitantly. 

“Once upon a time I went to school here. If was the first day of third grade and we had a new kid. His name was Michael. Michael wrote me a love letter and didn't sign it, so I just called them Mush because it was a mushy letter. Lo and behold Mush turned out to be Michael who turns out to be Mush, the guy sitting next to Elmer, so turns out I named Mush and it stuck.”

“Seriously?” Race laughed, “he's always been Mush, like, he came here first day and asks all his teachers to call him Mush.” 

Spot snickered.

“What did you do? Did you ‘date’ him or what?” Race teased.

“Oh you bet I dated him, but then his friend Kaleb tried to push me into a puddle because I was ‘hogging his best friend’ so I told him we were through. Mind you that all went down about half an hour after I found out.”

Race laughed, and seeing that the kids were starting to file in hurried back to his seat. 

The concert went well, Spots solo was a hit and the kids were enthusiastic. They tiredly packed up their stands and instruments then walked back to the bus. 

The day had finally caught up with them and most were looking forward to the weekend. Spot slumped down in his seat and Race slunk in beside him. 

After a few minutes the blonde's head tipped back and he began to lightly snore. Usually Spot would complain, but he was so tired and Race looked so cute. 

He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. Race’s head soon fell on his shoulder and Spot smiled softly. 

All too soon the bus got back to the school. People called out to others in their sixth period to find out if they were going to class, but most weren't. There was only about twenty minutes left of school and none of their teachers expected them to show up.

“You goin to class?” Race asked groggily.

“Nah, I have to wait for the bus though.” Spot scowled.

“You want a ride home? I have a car.” Race offered.

“Really? Thanks. I hate the bus.” 

“No problem.” Race grinned and the two walked to the student parking lot. 

Race did around in his pocket for his keys, but his face fell as he realized he didn't have them.

“Fuck, Mush has my keys.” Race slapped his head. 

“Why does Mush have your keys?” 

“I had him drop me off this morning and he drove himself here.” 

Spot shook his head, but didn't stop smiling. Instead he sat down at the end of the rusty, beat up truck. He pulled out his takeout box and started eating. Race didn't skip a beat and sat down beside him, snatching another bite. 

They were too tired to talk much, so Race just put his head on Spots leg and fell asleep. Spot sat as still as he could, biting back a smile. 

Maybe he liked Race a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

So maybe Spot Conlon isn't everything you make him out to be. He may be an intimidating short stack, but he's also one of the most passionate people out there. Passionate about viola, passionate about American Sign Language, passionate about football, and passionate about his friends, and let's say Race was lucky to be one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Okokok. So the donuts actually happened, good teriyaki at the mall actually happened (I swear it's the best) we actually went to my old elementary school and did hopscotch and the singing let it go on the bus actually happened. My orchestra is lit af.


End file.
